


The Quiet Man

by ReneeMR



Series: Hollywood AU [1]
Category: Highlander
Genre: AU, Duncan/Adam aka Methos - Freeform, Ensemble Cast, First Time, Highlander - Freeform, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-02-05
Updated: 2003-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-04 04:24:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReneeMR/pseuds/ReneeMR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Retelling of director John Ford's classic with Duncan MacLeod in the John Wayne role and Adam Pierson in the Maureen O'Hara role.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For a great many lovely views of Glenfinnan, do a Google image search.
> 
> The Glenfinnan Viaduct was prominently featured in 'Harry Potter II' during the train vs. car sequence.
> 
> Special dedication to Eva. Who saw the slash potential as soon as I mentioned the movie. And who is the kindest, gentlest, most constant giver of feedback. Thank you.

ONE

"I tell you, Dotty, my dear, it's a lovely day for early spring. But so nippy." The older woman waiting for the train to arrive had had a captive audience. And since Mrs. Corkindale wasn`t about to let such an opportunity pass her by, she'd warmed right up to her subject. Herself. The old woman started in complaining about her arthritis. A subject on which she had no trouble expounding for the unexpected hour's wait.

Her daughter-in-law, the aforementioned Dotty, simply sighed and resigned herself. It was just her bad luck that her package was arriving on the same train as her mother-in-law's. She was thankful, though, that she wasn't expected to do more than nod once and again.

"…And they say we can expect rain again tonight." Mrs. Corkindale shook her head knowingly and tapped the wrist she had broken the summer before. "I might even say there could be a bit of a blow…"

"Wheeeeeeettttttttttttt!"

"The train," Dotty said thankfully. She turned away to watch the small engine and four cars pull into Glenfinnan Station. She hurried over to the station manager, Mr. Henry. With luck she could retrieve her package quickly. Get away before she was stuck having lunch with the old woman, too.

Carelessly, she stepped out right in front of a man getting off the train. "Sorry, sir," she said. Tried to push past him. Until she caught sight of him. "Oh, my," she breathed.

The tall, darkly handsome, impeccably dressed man smiled. "Are you from Glenfinnan? I'm looking for a place around here. A little farm…"

Mrs. Corkindale brushed Dotty out of the way. "There's many a farm around here," she said knowingly. "What is it, exactly, you're looking for, young sir? Sure, you're an American. But I don't see nary a camera." She seemed a bit puzzled.

Mr. Henry had come up with two of the baggage handlers. "The fishing's been spotty this year," the older man said. He looked over the cartload of luggage. Then shook his head. Not a rod or reel in sight. What kind of tourist was this man?

"I'm not here to take pictures or to fish," the stranger began.

"Well. It's not for the football," someone else said.

"Why you! You take that back…"

The dark man looked around the growing crowd. It seems he was forgotten in the zeal of team spirit. He backed away until he felt a touch on his arm. He turned to find a smaller man, with a wild mop of brown curls, had loaded his baggage on a station wagon. Was pushing his bags through the station.

He stopped and looked back over his shoulder. "Glenfinnan this way." Went on when the stranger started to follow. He stopped outside, next to an old-fashioned horse-drawn cart.

The dark man realized he was going to be riding around in the horse cart. "Well, I'd heard some people were trying to get in touch with their roots. But isn't this a bit much?" The stranger's voice was light, but just a tad curious, too.

"Laddie, the roads being what they are. The cost of petrol. And there being a fair tax break for running a one-horse-power taxi service. What do you think?"

"I think I'd like you to take me to the inn."

"Good choice."

Soon enough the luggage was loaded, and the little man started his gelding off down the road. After a moment or two, he looked other man up and down.

"Six-two?" It was obvious he meant his height.

"Six even."

"Hm. Cincinnati?"

Now the stranger laughed. "Seacouver. Mostly."

 

TWO

The best inn in Glenfinnan wasn't in the town. But rather some distance away on Loch Shiel. The newcomer was quiet as he rode along. Content to simply look at a landscape he hadn't seen in decades. As they crossed an old stone bridge, the cart slowed and stopped. Tears started in his eyes and he let them fall. Even when he realized the driver was watching him.

"Ah, that's nothing but a wee, humble cottage," the driver said quietly. It was. A run down old farmhouse and outbuildings. Long neglected by the look of them.

One low story. Wide. With thick walls built of fieldstone. The thatched roof was in dismal shape. Stone shone through the whitewash. The gardens were overgrown. No trace of civilized growth could be seen. The outbuildings were in disrepair. Even the steppingstones across the stream were out of place.

All in all, it looked--like heaven.

"That little place across the brook. That humble cottage. Who owns it," the dark man asked.

"Madam Amanda. Widow MacBeth, that is. Not that she lives there." The smaller man had taken the opportunity to light his pipe and was sending up smoke rings.

"Think she'll sell?"

"Not in this lifetime. Laddie, what Amanda has, she holds with an iron grip," the man warned with a laugh. "White O'Morn belongs to her. Lock, stock and barrel. Besides, I think she likes the name. She'll not be selling," he stated emphatically.

"Well, don't be so sure of yourself this time, Hugh Fitzcairn. White O'Morn belongs to the MacLeods. And I intend to get it back, Fitz!"

"MacLeod? MacLeod?" It was clear Fitzcairn was confused. How did this man know him? "Wait. Who? Who are you?"

"I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. I was born here in Glenfinnan. But I left when I was very young. You knew my cousin, Connor. He told me all about you. And this place."

"Duncan? Is it really you, laddie?" Fitz peered up into the handsome face of the man he'd supposed was an American.

"Aye, Fitz." MacLeod laughed, and clapped his new friend on the shoulder.

"Well, what do ye know! I need a drink." Fitz shook out the reins and the horse obediently headed down the road.

 

THREE

They were still some way out from the inn when Fitz again slowed the cart. Bringing it to stop next to an ancient car. The bonnet was up, and there was a stream of colorful profanity coming from that direction. And some serious metal-banging.

"Ahem," Fitz said loudly. When it became apparent their arrival had gone unnoticed.

"Jesus Christ! Just shoot me. That'd have to be less painful than a heart attack," a gravelly tenor voice declared frostily. A bearded, silver-haired man stepped into view. His blue eyes flicked over the stranger with Fitz.

"Dawson, if you'd get a decent car, you wouldn't be stuck on the side of the road all the time."

"Fitzcairn, if I wanted your advice, I'd ask for it." The man nodded, then crossed over to the cart. He leaned on his cane, and offered his hand. "Joe Dawson. I own The Blue Moon. You going out my way?"

MacLeod jumped from the cart and shook the graybeard's hand. "Duncan MacLeod. If you've got a room," he said with a smile. "I didn't make a reservation."

"No need this early in the season," Joe assured him. "Plenty of room. Besides, I always have room for Connor`s kin." He frowned. "I was sorry to hear about that. Terrible," he added softly.

"Thanks," MacLeod said quietly. It still hurt, the loss of his only kinsman. That was part of the reason he had come home.

"Come on, Fitz, see if you can coddle Baby for me. Get her started."

"I can…"

Both the men turned to MacLeod. "Best if you stay away," Joe warned. He looked the well-dressed man over. Pointedly. "Don't want to mess your clothes."

"Laddie," Fitz nodded knowingly. "Baby's a spitter. Go over there." Fitz waved the other man off.

MacLeod knew when to give up. Walking down the road, he caught sight of a flock of sheep. He stopped. It had been such a long, long time since he done anything so simple. He found a fallen tree trunk and sat down to watch. He laughed aloud at the antics of the lambs.

Then laughed even more as the car sputtered into life. Backfired. And the startled sheep fled across the fields.

Hearing a bark, he turned again. And found himself looking at… He blinked, and there was no one there.

"What is it, laddie," Fitz asked curiously. He had been calling to the other man, but not getting a reaction.

"Hey, was that real?"

"What?"

"Didn't you see?"

Fitz looked at MacLeod. The man sounded awestruck. He shook his head. "Ah, nonsense man. It's only a mirage. Brought on by your terrible thirst."

"Maybe so," MacLeod said with a shrug. But he really didn't think so.

 

FOUR

It was barely sunrise when Duncan MacLeod dressed in a warm up suit and left the inn for his run. The mist hung heavy over the land. Obscuring hills, fields, houses, forest alike. So the man stayed on the roads. And ran. Simply. Quietly. Just for the pleasure of moving. Something he hadn't done in a long while.

He was just about to head back when the mist suddenly dissipated. Just like someone had lifted a gauzy gray shawl. The sun shone down, sparking dew droplets to white fire. MacLeod stopped to watch the little miracle.

A moment later he stiffened. Turned to stare up the road. Directly into the sun. At a running figure that slowed as it approached. Stopped.

Without realizing it, MacLeod smiled. A smile nearly as glorious as the sunrise. All for the strange man--immortal--standing before him. "Good morning."

There was a five-second eternity before the other immortal nodded. Sweat-dampened sable hair flopped into his eyes and he negligently pushed it back. Threadbare gray sweats were stained with sweat.

"It was you, yesterday, wasn't it? With the sheep, I mean."

Eyes the color of fine cognac brightened. The mobile lips almost smiled. He nodded by way of answer.

"Why did you run away?"

The man shrugged. A moment later the alarm on his watch beeped. He dashed off without having spoken a word.

"Wait!" MacLeod was about to go after the other immortal, but Fitz and his cart were suddenly blocking the way.

"None of that now, none of that. It's a bold man you are, Duncan MacLeod. And who taught you to be flirting in the road."

"Hey, you're not going to tell me you didn't see him this time!"

"Oh, I saw all right." Fitz smirked at the man. "Here I thought you'd be going after the Widow." Then he shook his unruly curls.

Fitz snorted. "And there was Adam Pierson letting you do it!"

"What did you say his name was," the Scot asked quietly. He still stared down the road where the man had vanished.

"Adam Pierson." Fitz looked at the other man sharply. "Now, don't be getting any notions into your head."

"Adam," Duncan said quietly.

"Forget it, Mac. Forget it. Put it out of your mind entirely, laddie."

"Why? What's the matter? He's not taken already, or anything, is he?"

"Oh, nothing like that," Fitz said with a little laugh. "Not likely. That one has a fine temper, though. And that's no lie. But that one's not for you, laddie." He looked rueful, though, before he went on. "No, Adam Pierson's not for the likes of you."

"What do you mean? Not for the likes of me, then?"

Fitz sighed. "It's far too early to be thinking about anything like that, Duncan, my lad. Come along. The Widow can see you this morning."

At that news, MacLeod brightened. Once he had White O'Morn, he would concentrate on the next thing he wanted.

 

FIVE

The Widow was a beautiful, vibrant, sexy woman in her early thirties. Not a bit the doughty matron he`d been expecting. MacLeod piqued her interest. She leaned back in the ornate chair behind her equally ornate desk and studied him. He was *so* her type. Tall. Dark. Handsome. Well-dressed. No doubt he was rich, too.

"So, it`s your ancestral home, is that it?"

"Yes, as long as there have been MacLeods they've owned that land."

"Well, Mr. MacLeod, I see. Now, what exactly do you plan to do with the place? Are you going to turn it into one of those reenactment sites? Run tours? I can assure you there's not enough tourist trade for it. Or are you some kind of celebrity?" Her tone was light. Amanda was teasing.

"No, not exactly," the man replied carefully.

The Widow sighed. "My own family has been here for over a thousand years. But we haven't any monuments or memorials…"

The Scot sighed. "Look, it's MacLeod land. It's been MacLeod land since long before either of us was born. I want to live here. What else…"

The butler cut off MacLeod's words. He came in behind a man who had stopped just inside the room's door.

"Mrs. MacBeth! I tried to stop Mr. Koren, Madam."

Koren. MacLeod knew the name. An immortal. Another immortal. What were the chances of that happening in such a small place as Glenfinnan? Melvin Koren, here.

"Mrs. MacBeth," he said, as he looked the dark immortal over. Suspicion evident in his body language.

"Mr. MacLeod," Amanda introduced the newcomer. "From America."

"It's him I'm here about, Mrs. MacBeth. Is it true?"

MacLeod stayed quiet. The small, light brown-haired man had fiercely burning blue eyes. And a horrendous scar across his right eye. Dislike for the other immortal resonated from him. MacLeod had to admit the feeling was mutual.

"Is what true," the woman asked silkily. She knew what he was going on about.

"That behind my back he's trying to steal the White O'Morn right from under my nose?

Amanda leaned back in her chair and studied Koren through narrowly slit eyes. "And what concern of yours is this, Melvin Koren?"

"Concern? Concern enough! Haven't I made you a good, fair offer for that same piece of land? And mine lying right next to yours."

The Highlander looked over at Fitz. It suddenly dawned on him that there was more going on here than a simple land sale. He had stepped squarely into the middle of--something. He almost groaned when Fitz gave him a tiny nod.

"You may keep your offer."

"Oh. So, it's true, you have sold it?" One could almost see storm clouds gathering in the intense blue eyes.

The woman frowned. "No. I have not."

"Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Oh, I knew it was a dirty lie the very minute I heard it." Koren rounded on the other immortal. "Sure. I said to him, `Joe Dawson, you'll never make me believe that Amanda MacBeth will be selling White O'Morn.' Why, it'd be like building a fence between your land and mine. ' And for a stranger to move in,' said I. 'And what would she be doing that for?' And us so close to an understanding, you might say." Koren looked very pleased with himself.

Unfortunately, the Widow wasn't nearly so happy.

"So, you told him all that, did you? Down at the pub I suppose. In front of all of those big ears. With pints in their fists and pipes in their mouths." Amanda sat behind her desk and silently fumed. For a moment. Then she smiled. Sweetly. She turned to MacLeod.

"You may have the land, Duncan. For two hundred and fifty."

"Two hundred and fifty!"

"I believe the offer was three hundred," the dark immortal said quietly in response to Koren's shout.

"Three hundred and ten," Koren countered. He was furious now. His face was suffused with anger.

Not wanting to drag things out any longer, MacLeod shrugged and pulled out his checkbook. "Four hundred," he said as he wrote.

 

SIX

"He's just like all the MacLeods," one of Koren's hired men was saying to the other three. "Great fighters. Why, there are legends going back near five hundred years."

None of the four noticed the look on Adam Pierson's face as he served their lunch. By all that was holy, he'd never expected the Highlander to come back to Glenfinnan. Not after everything that had been going on lately. Certainly not after what had happened with Connor.

He wondered what the man was here for. Maybe some kind of pilgrimage? Methos had moved to stand where he could look out of the kitchen window. He leaned his aching head against the cool pane.

I don't need this, he thought. Kronos is volatile enough. I can barely keep him under control now. Adding Duncan to the situation is like adding butane to a petrol fire. Their eruption would have nothing on Vesuvius.

Methos stiffened and turned to the back door. Warily, he waited for Kronos to appear.

"Get out," the immortal shouted as soon as he saw his employees. He glared happily as they fled. Then grabbed the whiskey bottle. Flung himself into his chair before the fire.

"Brother, bring me a glass," he commanded.

"Isn't it a bit early in the day for whiskey? Even for you?"

The tall immortal studied the smaller as he went to the cabinet. "So, you went over there in a snit and said something to Amanda." Methos practically tossed the other man the glass. "Pissed her off, didn't you? She sold White O`Morn to the American?"

A snarl was the only answer. Kronos poured a full glass of liquor and drank it down.

His brother nodded, and folded his arms around his chest. "Well, good for her. Good for him."

"What do you mean? How dare you take his side!" Kronos jumped up, spilling his drink. Attempting to grab Methos. He tripped and sprawled on the floor.

Methos nimbly sidestepped and danced out of reach. "I dare anything, brother. You'd better just remember who needs whom." Then the ancient man was gone. The door slamming behind him.

 

SEVEN

Joe Dawson watched the patrons in his bar. There had been quite a bit of revelry earlier. When Fitz had introduced his quiet, peace-loving friend, Duncan MacLeod, to everyone. Celebrating the return of one of their own. He grinned and shook his head as he pulled several more pints. Too bad Adam hadn't been here, he thought.

Well, not really. Not if Koren was as homicidal as he'd heard. Poor Adam. He wondered what it must be like for the kid to be that particular lunatic's Watcher. Of course, Koren didn't know that. He thought Adam was just his adopted brother. And business manager.

It was one of the many ploys the Watchers used to keep tabs on some of their immortals.

And that thought brought him back to his regard of Duncan MacLeod.

There had been *much* rejoicing when the man resurfaced. After the debacle with Kell and his kinsman, Connor MacLeod, there had been wild speculation. That the best hope to win the Prize might have given up. Joe was determined not to let the Highlander get away again.

He hoped things would settle down. He didn't think he wanted another confrontation in his bar like the one earlier. Koren had come in and accused MacLeod of everything from theft to trying to seduce both Mrs. MacBeth and Adam.

Koren had even tried to pick a fight. Fortunately, MacLeod had refused. And left not long after that to take some of his things to the cottage.

The graybeard wasn't really paying attention when Fitz came to the bar for another pint. He drew it, passed it down the bar, and went back to his private thoughts.

"…I've never seen Adam taken with anyone like that. Female. Much less male," Fitz said bemusedly. "And the looks MacLeod was giving our Mr. Pierson…"

"What?"

Fitz looked over at the innkeeper and shrugged. "I said, Adam and Duncan fancy one another."

 

EIGHT

MacLeod had insisted that Fitz drop him off away from White O'Morn. Despite the chilly, damp wind, he was going to spend the night in his ancestral home for the first time in centuries. In the dying evening light, he stopped beside the stream and carefully placed the stepping-stones. Stood, and looked over the cottage.

It would take time, money, and hard work to bring it back. "Well, you've got plenty of the first two, and you don't mind the third, Duncan," he said to himself. He was about to cross the stream when he noticed the smoke. Someone had started a fire in the fireplace.

Moving stealthily, he went to the door. It was nearly full dark now. The storm clouds covered the moon. Inside, only faint firelight illuminated the main room. He didn't see or feel anyone. He went in. Nothing.

Wait. Presence. Whoever it was, he had to know. MacLeod moved to the back of the cottage and waited. A moment later he felt tingling. He jumped from his hiding place and grabbed.

Snatched sweater. Yanked a sleeve. An arm. Pulled.

Then a long, lean body was pressed against his, thigh to chest. MacLeod groaned at the exquisite contact. All he had to do was tilt his head the slightest bit to touch the soft, warm lips. There was no awkwardness over height. No moment of indecision about where noses should go.

They kissed.

It was perfection. MacLeod almost hummed in delight as his arms went around Adam. He had no idea how long it lasted. But it wasn't long enough.

He was being shoved away. Rudely. Roughly. "Hey!"

Methos fell back against the wall. He was panting, and his color was high. The other man reached for him again, and he slapped his hand away. "Don't. Touch. Me. What gives you the right?"

"So you can talk?" The Scot had begun to wonder if his mirage was mute.

"Yes I can, I will, and I do!" Methos moved farther away. "And it's more than talk you'll get if you take a step closer."

"Sure. Okay. Fine." MacLeod took several steps back and held up his hands in surrender. "You pack a wallop. Sorry. I just thought…"

"What?" Methos was shaking. He wasn't exactly sure why. Oh, he knew it was because of the unexpected depth of his emotional reaction. But which one?

The one where he wanted to throw Duncan down and have his very wicked way with him? Or the one where he wanted to run away. Far, far away. Maybe New Zealand was far enough?

"I thought it was nice of you to come over here. You know. I don't think your brother would approve."

Methos lifted his chin. "I do what I please." But then he sagged. "And no, he won't. And that's why it won't happen again. So, good night, Mr. MacLeod. Welcome to Glenfinnan. Welcome home."

The old immortal gathered his tattered dignity and backed out of the cottage. He shut the door carefully. Then turned and ran as if the very hounds of hell were on his heels.

 

NINE

Joe had driven out to White O'Morn with mail for MacLeod. He couldn't get over the fact that the man was doing without phone, cable, Internet or gas. His only concessions to modernity were indoor plumbing and a windmill to generate electricity. The Watcher thought he was nuts.

Now, in just a few short weeks, the property looked completely different. The cottage was freshly whitewashed a gleaming white. The roof thatched in golden straw. The doors and shutters painted a deep, emerald green. MacLeod had insisted. Even though he'd been told often enough that red was more durable.

There were chickens in a coop. Geese on the stream banks. Sheep in the pastures. Two fine thoroughbreds in the barn. Joe was surprised there wasn't a cow or two on the place.

"I gotta tell you, Mac, this is pretty impressive. It looks like all these cottages should. But usually don`t." The mortal handed over the packet of mail, fax, and email. "Oh, and here's a little housewarming present." He got a rose bush out of the back seat. "I, ah, heard you were putting these in."

"Thanks, Joe." The Scot smiled. He was taking flack from the locals about the roses, too. But he didn't care. Not at all. "Come on in and have some coffee."

"Coffee?"

"Would you rather tea?"

"Nah, coffee's great." Joe grinned. He went to sit on the bench set beside the front door. "Mac, delivery truck is coming," he called out a few minutes later.

"Oh, great, my furniture." He handed the mortal a large mug of coffee, and went over to the van.

The Highlander and the movers were having a discussion, when Dawson noticed there was another visitor. This one was practically hiding behind a hedgerow. He limped over to Adam. "Hello. Come here often?"

"Arse."

Dawson laughed. "Yeah," he said agreeably. He needlessly pointed at the van where they were just bringing out a dresser. "Mac's new furniture."

"Yes."

The two men watched silently for a while. Methos thought he approved of most of the choices. What there was of it.

Joe whistled suddenly. "Would you look at that?"

The 'that' was a bed. One of the largest beds he'd ever seen outside of a museum. "It's big as a parade ground. You'd have to be a sprinter to catch your wife in a bed like that." He looked over at Adam. "Or your--whatever."

Methos glared at his friend. Then he turned and walked stiffly towards the road. He could hear Dawson's sniggering for quite a way.

Continued...


	2. Chapter 2

TEN

The ancient had gone straight home from White O'Morn. This infatuation with the MacLeod had to stop. He had work to do for Kronos. Yet, here he was, running all over the countryside. Mooning over what he couldn't have. No more.

As Methos entered the yard, he caught sight of Hugh Fitzcairn lounging--napping, beside the door. He knew that the little man and MacLeod had become close friends. Just thinking about how close made Methos want to whack the fool. He walked over to him now and jostled him awake.

"Well, Mr. Fitzcairn. What do you want? You're cluttering up the place."

"I have… I have come…" His voice cracked.

"Oh, I can see that. But from whose pub was it?"

Fitz sighed. Took a deep breath. "Pub? Pub? You have a tongue like an adder. I've a good mind to go about my own business. Tell Duncan MacLeod he's well off without you."

Methos started. "Wait a minute. What was that?"

"You might want to pay attention here. I'm on a mission from Duncan MacLeod." He grinned at the other man's dumbfounded expression. "Thought that'd do it." Fitz closed his eyes.

The immortal waited for a moment. "Well? Go on. You were saying…"

Fitz coughed delicately. "My mouth is like a dry crust. And the sun is that hot on my head. Dry," he said dryly.

Methos huffed. "Come on in. The house may belong to my brother, but I do have my own things too."

He led the man inside and poured him a drink. "All right. What are you going on about?"

Fitz downed his libation before he nodded and went on again.

"God, man, what do you think? You and Duncan. Man and man. Um, spouses. Partners. Forever and ever. He wants to marry you, ya great idiot. He sent me to ask you if you`d, ah," Fitz wrinkled his brow, "go for it."

Whatever Fitz was expecting, it wasn't the depth of sadness that he saw on Adam's face. What in the world could possibly be the matter now? "Adam," he said tentatively. He reached out a hand to the man.

But Methos turned and stepped away to avoid the contact. "I was afraid..." He shook his head and looked back at his visitor. "There are--circumstances. Things I can't go into."

It was obvious Fitz had no idea what was on the line here. "My brother is a man who has to be in control. He wants everything run exactly as he likes. I know how he likes things, Fitz. I keep his life running smoothly. He's happy. Everyone's happy."

"He doesn't own you, man…"

"No. Not own. But I have a contract. An unbreakable contract. There's no room in it for anyone else."

Fitz shook his head. "But the laddie. He has his heart set on this. He's in love with you, Adam. And I can plainly see you have feelings of your own. You can't deny it."

"No. I don't. But you can't tell him that. You have to tell him I said no." Methos stood. "Tell him that I'm not giving up this life to live so humbly." The old immortal smiled grimly. "That should piss him off."

Fitz could only agree.

 

ELEVEN

Everyone knew that there was bad blood between Koren and MacLeod. It was the main topic of conversation over half the countryside that late spring. How could it not be? Since neither of the men bothered to pretend to anything other than a deep and abiding hatred for the other. There was the awful way the two men acted when they merely heard mention of the other`s name.

No, it was well understood there was no love lost between them. Not that there were more than a mere handful who knew the true reason. The townspeople knew enough of Koren to know he could make a deadly insult out of a simple 'good day.'

In truth, their sympathies lay with MacLeod.

Meantime, Koren strode around Glenfinnan as if he owned the place. Showing up unexpectedly in the unlikeliest places around the town. Obviously looking for MacLeod. Spoiling for a fight.

MacLeod seemed to understand that. He took to the hills. Hiking and running. Climbing. Riding one or the other of the fine mares he had bought.

Or working in the gardens at White O'Morn. He'd started the vegetables too late in the season to have much of a summer harvest. But the fall would be good.

Joe Dawson watched over the Scot like a broody hen with one chick. So did many of the ladies of Glenfinnan. There was always some special tidbit on the Highlander's table when the graybeard visited.

They never spoke of Koren. Or Adam. For a while the mortal began to think MacLeod was resigned to the situation.

Until the day he came across the immortal with the first budding rose in his hand.

"Did you know Adam has roses too," MacLeod had asked quietly. "In the back garden. Mrs. MacClelland told me. Climbing roses. They aren't much trouble, you know? He doesn't have time for worrying about…roses…"

That was the day Joe Dawson finally took the Scot aside and told him-- more or less--the arrangement the two brothers had. The mortal also managed to break the oath he had taken as a Watcher during the explanation.

"So. That's it? Adam chooses to stay and keep Koren sane. You say happy. I know."

"It's worked for the last ten years, Mac."

"Sure. But, wouldn't it be safer to whack the SOB? Oh wait, you don't interfere," the Scot said with a sneer. Of course, he knew a lot more about the reality of the situation than Dawson did. For instance, that Adam Pierson was an immortal. A pretty old one if he was any judge. And MacLeod thought he was.

"Fine. Don't worry about me. If Adam were the last man…" MacLeod broke off and slammed out of the cottage. Joe could hear him stomping across the yard.

Dawson wished there was something he could do for the man who had quickly become his friend. He shook his head as he limped towards his car.

"That went well."

"Don't start with me, Fitz," Joe warned. Then he relented. After all, there weren't many people he could talk to about this situation. "Come on. I'll give you a lift to The Blue Moon."

The men were quiet on the drive back to the inn. Joe opened up the place and Fitz helped him set up. Then the bartender drew and set a pint of porter in front of the smaller man. "What are we gonna do, my friend? I can't stand to see them suffer."

"Neither me, Dawson. But, I've been thinking. What's the one thing Mr. Koren wants more than anything. Something he's been pining after all these last ten years? Would he trade the one for the other?"

"Well now." The older man smiled. "You know, you just might have something there."

 

TWELVE

Things had subtly escalated between Koren and MacLeod. Now that the American was seeing Widow MacBeth.

There was nothing overt between them. Definitely not. But the man had made several trips to her place to consult with her gardeners. And been invited to stay to tea.

MacLeod had found a book Amanda was particularly interested in. She had ridden out to White O'Morn to pick it up. There was talk of a golf outing to St. Andrew's.

So, it was a series of little things that had come to Koren's attention. And Methos'. Their already infamous arguments had turned into true rages. The hired men wouldn't even go in the house. Something had to give. Luckily, the summer solstice was at hand.

 

The crowd was huge, Dawson noted with satisfaction. And amusement. The Midsummer Day race was one of the biggest events held in Glenfinnan. Nearly as big as the Harvest Fair. It always drew a good number of locals and tourists. But this year it was proving to be phenomenal. No doubt due to the notorious rivalry between Koren and MacLeod.

Joe was on his way to selling out of the stock he'd brought. He looked up to serve another customer. There was Koren in his black silks. And Adam. Neither looked particularly happy.

"Uh, what can I get you?"

Koren looked over at Adam and glared at him. His brother took it as a sign of dismissal and led the horse away. When Koren was satisfied the other man was far enough away he turned to Dawson. "What's MacLeod think he's doing with my Widow, Dawson?"

"Your Widow?" Joe shook his head and laughed. "Ah, so, you've heard, huh?" Joe looked over as Fitz came up to join them.

"What kind of scoundrel is this American," Kronos asked. "You're with him all the time. The two of you."

"Yes, what do you say, Fitzcairn," Joe asked slyly.

"I say Mrs. MacBeth has the right of it. You're not bad looking. You're rich as Croesus. And your place is a rival to hers."

"So?"

Fitz looked over at Joe. Then lowered his voice. "But, to be honest, I wouldn't want to live in that house. Not with that terror." He looked pointedly to where Adam was arguing--loudly--with one of the race stewards. "You might be willing to put up with the snarky bastard, but, well, she's a lady, for God's sake, man."

"Dawson?"

"Well, I can't say it's true. And I won't say it's not. But, there's been talk."

"A lot of talk," Fitz said for emphasis.

The immortal made a strangled noise and stormed off. But over the next hour the co-conspirators saw the surreptitious looks being turned on Adam.

As the time for the race to start neared, Dawson scanned the rest of the area for the other principals in the little diversion he and Fitz had planned. There. Fitz was talking to Amanda. Pointing. Waving. There. To MacLeod, as he led that glossy bay mare of his toward the stands.

Yes. Yes. "Go on, Mac," Joe whispered aloud. "That's right. Be polite, talk to Mandy."

Ah, smile at her, the old man thought. Okay, Mandy, you're turn. Be the Lady. "Yes," Dawson almost shouted. He watched gleefully as Amanda tied her suitably colorful--and distinctive--Hermes scarf around MacLeod's upper arm. There was no way Koren would be able to miss it.

"Ah, chivalry," Fitz whispered as he rejoined Joe.

"Yep."

The two men smiled over their job well done.

 

THIRTEEN

"Well, Dotty, I don't know as I'd have chosen today for it, but I suppose it's what the young men wanted." Mrs. Corkindale took her punch and cake and went out into the garden where the younger folks were dancing the evening away.

"Mother C, I think Lammas Eve is a nice day as any other for a handfasting. Adam said it`s Juliet and Harry Potter`s birthday too." Dotty cast an appreciative eye over the grooms. "And doesn't Mr. MacLeod look lovely in his kilt?"

The older woman had to admit her daughter-in-law was right on that. "And our Adam is handsome as ever in that suit of his," she sighed.

MacLeod was thinking exactly the same thing as he regarded his spouse. He certainly had the build to carry off white tie and tails. He reached out and touched him. Just because he could. And he wanted to.

Finally. It was over. Done. Everything signed, sealed. All that was left was the delivery. So to speak.

Methos noticed the look on his husband's face. Husband. He shook his head. That had been a shock. He'd known Duncan wanted him. After their one and only kiss, that fact had been seared into his very being. But that he wanted a permanent alliance. That had been a complete surprise.

So, here they were after the wildest five weeks of his long, long life. Sometimes he was afraid he'd wake up to find it was all a dream. A wonderful dream. But he hadn't. It was real. He thought back to how it had started.

The day after the Midsummer race, Kronos had come to him with an offer to release him from his contract. Methos had laughed and gone about the everyday business of managing Kronos' investments.

On the next day he'd been offered an obscenely large amount of money to settle the contract. Again, he'd laughed and ignored his brother.

But, come the third day, Methos realized his brother was serious. Kronos had taken him for dinner, sat him in a booth at The Blue Moon. Then they'd waited for MacLeod to come in. Kronos had calmly invited the other immortal to join them. Bought him a pint. Then excused himself and left them.

As simple as that, it seemed, Methos' life had been rearranged. And much to his surprise, he hadn't minded one bit. He'd thrown himself wholeheartedly into the arrangements for the hand fasting.

Now, he smiled over at Kronos. His brother had seemed a bit shocked when he realized Methos and Duncan were in a personal relationship. `I thought he needed a business manager,' Methos had overheard him telling Dawson. But he'd gotten over it. He might have been a psychopath, but he understood as well as Methos, that love happens when and where it wills.

It was nearing the time for the newly joined couple to leave. The domestic partnership contact had been signed, and Joe came forward to make the toast.

Methos moved closer to MacLeod and unable to resist, ran his hand over his husband's kilt-and-nothing-else clad buttocks. The feminine tittering that greeted the motion was proof enough that they were being closely watched.

"Soon, love," MacLeod whispered. Then he grinned.

"Not soon enough," Methos countered. "We should have eloped."

Joe raised his glass high and turned to the two grooms. "To Duncan and Adam. May their days be long and full of happiness. May they live in peace and freedom." Everyone drank.

"I've got a little announcement to make." Koren had stepped forward. "Fill up the glasses," he directed. He waited while the waiters passed out fresh glasses of champagne.

"There, right." Koren had a huge smile on his face. "I have an announcement. Today we've had a hand fasting. And my house is empty."

Koren looked around at the guests. "So. I give you a toast. To myself. Who is soon to be wed." He turned and looked at Widow MacBeth. Sitting in the best seat, of course.

There was a gasp from the guests. Had there been another romance? One they'd missed?

Methos frowned and looked at Duncan. He shook his head. He had no idea what his brother was talking about. But he noticed the looks Joe and Fitz were giving one another. "I have a bad feeling about this, Duncan," he whispered.

Kronos had gone over to Amanda and was holding out his hand to her. "All she has to do is say that little word. Darling, just name the day when you'll make me the happiest man alive."

"What?"

"Our wedding day. Won't you name our wedding day?"

Amanda stood and then pushed Kronos' hand away. "How about when hell freezes over?" She glared at the man as if he had grown another head. "You are out of your mind!" Then, without saying another word the woman stormed out.

The guests began to move back from the stunned man. Others simply faded away before the furious emotional storm they could feel building, broke.

"You!" Kronos turned on his brother and MacLeod. "You filthy liar. Cheat!" He whirled to point at Fitz and Dawson. "And you--pandering for him." He was practically spitting in his righteous anger.

Both MacLeod and Methos tried to tell him he was wrong. But the guilty looks on their friend's faces condemned them too. There was no reasoning with Kronos when he was out of control.

The immortal continued screaming at them. "It was all lies, wasn`t it! Get out. Get out of my house. Don't ever come back here. Any of you. Not a foot on the property. I'll set the dogs on you."

"Mel!" Methos had had enough. He couldn't let the man keep rampaging on. "I don't know what you're talking about. We didn't plan any of this. It just happened"

"Ha! Then what was all that with my Widow?" Things continued to degenerate into wildly baseless accusations. Conspiracy theories.

"Nothing I say is going to make a difference," Methos finally said. He shook his head sadly. "If this is really what you want. I'll get my things…"

"Your things? Your things? You have nothing. Nothing. You don't get by cheating me!"

Methos paled. "My journals. My computer…"

"Mine!"

"No!"

Methos started out of the room, but his arm was grabbed and he was held tight. He rounded on his captor and growled. "MacLeod."

"Adam, let it go," the Scot said softly. "It doesn't matter. They're just things."

"Just…" He tried to shake off his husband's hold on him.

"You don't need them, Adam. Please, let's go?"

"MacLeod." Methos' voice was low-pitched with suppressed anger. "You don't know what you're saying."

Koren had been watching and listening to the exchange. Now he began to laugh. "You two. You deserve each other." He stalked up to the other two immortals. "Next time we meet, I'll kill you," he whispered vehemently. Then he neatly and unexpectedly clocked MacLeod and knocked him unconscious.

 

FOURTEEN

It was dark. The only light was what filtered through the open doorway. MacLeod recognized the ceiling of the cottage first. Then, that he was lying in his own bed. He'd been out a while. Or at least long enough for his friends to have brought him home.

And for someone to have undressed him. "Adam?"

Someone stirred and rose from the end of the huge bed. There was the flick of a lighter, a hiss, and the wick of an oil lamp caught flame. Shadows fell across the immortal's face as he turned to the bed. "Glad you're okay. He's got a wicked punch."

MacLeod nodded and sat up carefully. He would recover. But it still hurt like hell for a while. "Do you know what he was talking about?"

"A misunderstanding. I'm going to see him tomorrow morning. Get this straight. Get my things…"

"Your things?" Duncan frowned. "Forget it. I've got money, you know." He couldn't understand Adam's obsession with material possessions.

"They're not those kinds of things, Mac. My journals can't be replaced. The work that's on my computer."

"Hey, come on, now, Adam. All it takes is time to redo them. And you have plenty of that." MacLeod smiled up at his husband. "Look, just forget about it all. I'll buy you new journals. A new laptop. Top of the line. All the bells and whistles. I don't care if you work or not. You can do whatever you like."

Methos flinched and wearily closed his eyes. He was being patronized. Didn't the bloody man understand what he was saying? It wasn't the physical he wanted returned. It was the intellectual contained in those objects.

He started to turn just as Duncan got out of bed. Found his jeans and sweater-clad body being held by his very naked spouse.

"Come to bed," was whispered in his ear. Then soft, warm lips trailed down his jaw. His mouth was caught.

The slender man stepped back and MacLeod let him go. Methos looked into the smiling face. "No."

He continued backing. "This is your place. I can use the sofa. Or the barn. It's warm enough."

"Adam!" MacLeod cut him off at the door. Pulled him back into the room. "What's going on? We're married, for God's sake."

Methos stared at the hand pinning his arm. "Yes. We have a contract. You know all about contracts," he said caustically. "Nothing more. You have possession of my--my services." Amber-gold eyes met MacLeod's own brown ones in tacit warning. "But that's all. My mind, my intellect, the essential me--my brother still has that part."

MacLeod was angry. This was ridiculous. Adam was immortal. With the perfect memory of an immortal. He took a deep, cleansing breath. "Adam, you're tired. You're mad. Your brother screwed you over…"

"And now you want to…" Methos started to laugh, a harsh, choked laugh that was painful to hear... "Screw me?"

"Adam, come on, you just need to relax. Here." He reached for his husband again. And for the second time in a day ended up unconscious, falling back onto his huge bed and knocking it awry.

 

FIFTEEN

Methos heard them before he went out the door and saw them. Several of the handfasting guests led by Joe and Fitz were coming up the lane with a large horse-drawn cart. Loaded with household goods. He'd heard them because they were singing some awful Gaelic drinking song. The immortal went back into the cottage to warn Duncan. He didn't meet his husband's eyes, and went out again immediately to put on the coffee.

"What's this, then," Methos asked when the cart got close enough he didn't have to shout.

"Some of the ladies got together. Well, they worked on your brother. They'd been out here enough to have heard what stuff you planned to bring." Joe reached under the seat, and came up with Adam's laptop and disc files. But he shook his head when he saw the look on his friend's face.

"Nah, man, he wouldn't let us have the journals. He said they looked too nice in his library. I'm sorry."

"Me too," Methos breathed quietly. He looked back over his shoulder and saw his husband in the doorway. He looked away quickly. Saw that a lamp he wanted for the bedroom was being taken off the cart. He was about to get it, when Fitz took it and went in.

Duncan held the door, and then went to open the bedroom door. He knew his friend was ready to ask a million questions. He had to stop them before they started. But how? Without making a full confession of the disaster he had made of his wedding night.

"So, laddie, how was…" Fitz looked at Duncan. Looked at the bed. At Duncan. The bed--the mattress half off, and the bedding on the floor. The man turned. "Impetuous. Homeric." He saluted MacLeod.

"It's not what you think."

"You have no idea what I think," Fitz replied with a wide grin.

The Highlander practically groaned.

 

SIXTEEN

Methos rose at dawn from his lonely bed in the guestroom. Dressed. Let out the sheep and geese. Grained the hens and collected the eggs. Showered, shaved and changed. Woke MacLeod. Cooked and served breakfast, then sat down at the opposite end of the table to eat with his husband. As he had done each day for the last month. Since their hand fasting.

He picked at the French toast he'd made. Nibbled on the bacon. Started on his third cup of coffee. He watched MacLeod reading the news on the laptop. He cleared his throat.

"The Harvest Fair is in three weeks. Are you planning to enter any competitions?" He watched Duncan blank the computer screen and push the little machine away.

"What do you want to do, Adam?"

Methos sighed. MacLeod was making him crazy. Constantly deferring to him. He was about to make a pointedly nasty remark, but Duncan spoke again.

"I'm not very good at things like fairs. Not at the moment," he said simply. "I lived an urban life, most of the last century."

"Ah." Good point, Methos thought. "It's a typical country fair, Duncan. Livestock. Poultry. Fruits and vegetables. Baking and cooking contests. But, we also have a riding competition. Jumping. Think you might be interested?"

"Maybe. Do I need to do anything special?"

"You'll need to register. Means a trip into Glenfinnan." Methos pushed his food around some more. Before he went on. "Do you have plans for today?"

The Scot shook his head. "Nothing that won't keep. It'll only take me a minute to get ready."

Methos grinned. "Then you'll be waiting for me. I have to strip and remake our beds." He stopped. Embarrassed to have reminded his husband that they were still estranged. "Start laundry. Start the roast for tonight's dinner…"

"Forget that. Let's just go and enjoy ourselves. The laundry'll be here tomorrow. And I'll treat you to supper." Duncan spoke off-handedly. But in truth he was deeply in love with his spouse and was desperately searching for a way to end the stalemate between them.

"Alright. Sure." Methos nodded slowly. He was tired of trying to sustain his anger at his husband. He loved him. If the stubborn Scot would only try to see his point. That he, Adam/Methos couldn't let Koren/Kronos win. That his brother had to admit that he had been wrong. Something he would rather die than do, it seemed.

"Great, you get changed, and your shoes on, I'll be outside with the horses."

"What, you don't like my outfit?" He knew Duncan hated it. Tattered jeans and a well-worn henley. The Scot didn't seem to mind his bare feet, though. Methos harbored a secret fantasy that his spouse had a foot fetish. "Okay, I'll change. Since we'll be going out to dinner," he qualified.

So, it was nearly half an hour later that Adam appeared. But MacLeod considered it well worth the wait. The man looked good enough to… He cut off that thought. But he couldn't stop looking at his husband. And why didn't he know the man could dress like--that?

The white tie and tails should have tipped him off, he thoughtsuddenly.

Methos felt pinned by MacLeod's regard. Had he made a mistake? The flannel trousers were a dark, moss-brown color. The linen shirt a gray-green. The tie was a medium brown with a tiny green fern-frond motif. He'd checked himself in the mirror. His belt and shoes matched. He held up the jacket that matched the pants.

"What?"

Duncan shook his head. "Uh. Nothing. Come on, I have a surprise." He went into the barn and came out leading their sorrel mare pulling a small riding cart. "It even has a top so you can use it in the rain."

The ancient man came close to tears. They had talked about MacLeod's wanting to use less technology. Methos had refused to give up his car. Unless the Scot could find a way for him to get around without getting wet. It was several minutes before he could speak.

"Thank you, Duncan. This means…" His voice cracked. He couldn't go on. Maybe, maybe his husband was learning.

"Well, right, come on, let's see how you handle Fancy, there." Duncan knew Adam handled the horses as well as he did. But for some reason, the man seemed reluctant to have much to do with them. The Scot didn't push it.

Methos snorted. "Fancy is a lady with perfect manners, Mac. I have no doubt I could just tell her where I want to go. And she'd take us there."

The mare whinnied, and both the men laughed. The first time they'd laughed together in a month.

continued...


	3. Chapter 3

SEVENTEEN

The cart was a sensation in town. MacLeod passed out the URL for the manufacturer.

Most of the woman, and not a few of the men, were curiously observing the couple. As if there would be something they could see that set them apart.

Old MacDonald, eighty years old and still making his own whiskey, just shook his head. "People should just be let to be happy," he pronounced. "'Tis the same thing we all want!"

Neither Methos nor MacLeod paid any attention to the others. Somewhere along the road, the trip into town to register for the fair had turned into an idyll.

They signed up as soon as they got to Glenfinnan. Mac for the jumping competition. Methos for a fancy dessert contest. Which had started a conversation about spices. Which led to a visit to the apothecary for saffron strands and cloves. And the placing of a large and expensive order for more spices.

For lunch they bought bread and cheese, pears, and a good porter. Sat outside the pub eating and talking with the passersby. They laughed and joked. Told stories of their pasts. Watched other folks coming and going in town. Everything was going great.

Until Koren arrived with a man who was buying some of his sheep. As they exited the car and headed into the pub, Methos got up. He anticipated his husband's grab for his arm and sidestepped him.

"Adam," Duncan hissed. "What do you think you're doing?"

"He's in a good mood. I'm going to get him agree to give me my journals back," Methos said grimly. He stalked towards his brother. But he underestimated the Scot. He was suddenly halted as muscular arms came around him. He froze. "MacLeod. Five seconds."

"No, Adam. Enough of this. It's not worth it," Duncan said quietly.

"Maybe not for you. For me, this is something I have to do."

Kronos had stopped and was watching the tableau. He began to laugh raucously. "Well, brother, what's this? MacLeod afraid to fight for you?"

Adam snarled and struggled.

"Please, Adam, let's go home?"

"Yes, MacLeod, go. Take the puppy. You had to have him at any cost. Run away. The real men have business."

"Let's take this private, Koren."

"If there's anything you've got to say to me, say it here."

"I'd rather talk to you in private."

"Well, what's the matter? You're among friends. They fought for you once, didn't they? Maybe they`ll fight for you again."

"I'm not asking anybody to do any fighting.."

"Oh." Koren chuckled at that. "So, you're not willing to fight for him either?" He looked at his brother and sneered.

Methos had enough. He went completely still. Cold. Hard. "Stop it. Just. Stop. It."

MacLeod let go of Adam, and stepped in front of his husband. He was shocked by the look on his face.

"Adam?"

"Leave me alone, MacLeod. Alone." His voice was cold and emotionless. "I thought you were beginning to understand." He shook his head. "But I think I'm the one who misunderstood."

Cold amber eyes looked the Scot over. "I don't think I care to live with a coward," he said plainly. Then he turned and went to the cart and was gone before anyone could stop him.

 

Duncan doubted that being tossed naked in a glacier lake would have left him any colder. Coward. Did Adam…? He looked at the faces of the folk gathered around. Yes. Of course they believed he was a coward.

Koren had given him chance after chance to end this once and for all. And he had avoided the man. The situation. He'd been convinced that it would just go away. Like magic?

He didn't know what to do. Truly. So he started walking.

 

Methos galloped the mare out of town. Then dropped the reins and let her set her own pace. Let her have her head. He had to think. And he had no place to go. No place he was sure MacLeod couldn't find him. The ancient immortal leaned against the side of the cart and closed his eyes.

He wished he could wish things all better.

"Adam, lad!"

Fitz and his old gelding, Napoleon, were relaxing in the shade by the side of the road. "Glad you came along. Haven`t seen you in a while. Not since the hand fasting." He was about to make a bawdy joke when he noticed his friend's face. "Laddie, who died?"

"My marriage?" Methos sighed. "Except, well, technically, I don't know if it's possible for something never born to die."

"Never born?" Fitz looked confused.

"Okay, unconsummated is the correct term."

"Jesus, Adam, are you telling me you two… You haven't…"

"No, we haven't."

"Wait. I saw the wreck of the bed that morning!" Fitz waited for Adam to admit his joke. "Are really telling me--you and Mac didn't. Not even after you got married?"

"No. Not before or after, we haven't." Methos shrugged.

""Adam! What kind of nonsense… Never mind!" Fitz stopped. When he was calmer he went on. "You love him. Don't deny it. He loves you. You know it. So you two just get the hell over yourselves!"

 

MacLeod wasn't sure why, but he ended up at The Blue Moon later that afternoon. He found Joe in his office and went in and closed the door behind him.

"I need help," he said simply.

The graybeard nodded. "I heard. About earlier. He didn't mean it, Mac. Not really."

"He did, Joe." Duncan sat slumped in one of the innkeeper's comfortably decrepit club chairs. "And maybe he's right. I am a coward."

"MacLeod!"

"Joe. You know what I am. I'm a born killer. It's the only reason I'm alive."

The Watcher was shaking his head. "You're wrong, Mac. Some of the greatest advancements have been made by immortals."

"I'm not one of them."

"Damn you, Mac, you've saved hundreds…"

"I've killed thousands."

"This isn't about thousands. It's about one. About what happened with Connor. Isn`t it?"

"Connor." The Scot scrubbed at his face. "I could have helped him. I should have. But in the end I… I couldn't let go. I was scared to die."

"Kell…"

"Oh, yes, let's not forget Kell." MacLeod's smile was frozen on his face. "All those kills. And never one in a fair fight." He looked over at Dawson. "That's what I have inside me. A man who forced his quickening on me--who was too afraid to live. And another who was a complete coward."

The mortal was quiet for a long moment. Then he stood and moved to lean over his friend.

"Then you'd better learn to deal, pal. 'Cause unless I'm mistaken, you're going to lose out on the best thing you've ever had if you lose Adam. So what are you gonna do. Bitch and moan about how you were used by a dead man? Or go out there and show a couple of asshole immortals you mean business?

 

EIGHTEEN

Methos was standing and watching the darkening sky behind the cottage when he felt immortal presence. He didn't move. Didn't acknowledge the man who had come up behind him.

Not until all light had faded but for the stars. "I made supper. Thought you might be hungry." He turned and looked into the face of his husband. Then took MacLeod's hand and led him into the cottage. To the comfortable armchairs that sat before the fireplace. He started to move away. "I'll get…"

"Adam."

The sound of his husband's voice stopped Methos.

"Adam, would you come here? Sit. With me?"

The old immortal nodded. He didn't trust his voice or his brain to function just then. He perched on the arm of Duncan's chair and put an arm around his shoulder. He leaned close and smiled. He could tell where the man had been by his scent alone. Horse. Wood and tobacco smoke. Spices. Scotch. And the unique smell that was Duncan`s alone. The scent that clung to his clothes and his sheets. That Methos had only encountered from its source a handful of times. Groaning aloud, he turned his face into Duncan's neck.

"Adam. Beloved." MacLeod put his arms around his husband's waist and slid him onto his lap. Neither one moved at first. As if there was a spell they were afraid to break. Then Adam licked Duncan's neck. He laughed when the Scot jumped.

"What was that?"

"Taste."

MacLeod thought about that as Adam continued licking and nipping his collarbone. He leaned back.

Methos stopped and laughed.

"Hey. What?" He pointed to his neck.

"I was just thinking. Maybe we should take this someplace more comfortable. Before it gets harder to stop."

"Very good idea." The Scot stood up with Adam in his arms.

But not for long. Methos wriggled free and moved away from his husband. "I know what you're thinking. N. O. No."

"Aw, come on, Adam. Just into the bedroom. Nobody'll know."

"MacLeod, what if I want to carry you over the threshold?"

Confident that his husband could never lift him, Duncan gave a graceful, formal bow. "But, of course. "Anything…ooff!"

Methos had used the bow to catch his husband in a fireman's carry. Before the Scot knew it, he was being set on his feet beside the bed. And Methos was echoing his bow.

"Well." MacLeod shook his head and chuckled. How easily his skinny mate had outmaneuvered him.

"Well? How about a different word? Off. Take off your clothes. Get off your feet…" As he spoke, Adam lit the bedside lamp. Moved around the bed to turn back the coverlets and close the windows against the slight evening chill.

Duncan grinned as he stood watching his husband. "My, my, my. Bossy aren't we?"

"If you want to--get off, I suggest you get moving, Duncan. You wouldn't want me to start without you, would you?" Methos gave the Scot a speculatively challenging look.

The Scot swallowed. He wouldn't. Would he? He smiled. Not this time.

This time. He looked over at Adam. His spouse was way ahead of him, having started off barefoot and wearing just a shirt, jeans, and… MacLeod gasped involuntarily. His husband had dropped his jeans to reveal the most magnificent erection he had ever seen on another man. So, what did he say?

"You're not wearing any underwear."

Methos looked at his husband's incredulous face. He smiled. "Is that going to be a problem, Duncan," he asked quietly as he moved closer to MacLeod. What an interesting reaction he was getting.

"Un, nuh, 'sokay." He was babbling. And Adam was coming closer and all he could do was stare. Oh, God, nothing was working. He was numb. Dumb. But he saw clearly. It was as if he had hyper-sight.

He looked down. He'd seen Adam's bare feet for weeks. But he'd never noticed how the little toe on his left foot was crooked. He must have broken it before first death. He'd seen him in shorts, and shirtless. Why hadn't he realized he had muscles like ripcord? And where the hell had he gotten the idea Adam was skinny?

Duncan could feel excitement growing. What would it be like to spar with this man? Spar? He was insane. Thinking of swords at a time like this. That kind of sword, anyway.

"Mac," Methos whispered as he touched his husband's face. "Mac, we've waited too long already." Leaning in for a kiss, he pushed the Scot to sit on the edge of the bed. He laughed at the younger immortal's groan.

"Shh." Methos trailed his long fingers over Mac's lips, and then pulled away to kneel when his husband tried to catch his hand. "Behave," he said with a smirk. "I may love you more than life itself, but you're not bringing your muddy boots into bed with us." He bent to work on the laces.

The Highlander leaned back and braced himself on his elbows while he studied the man kneeling before him. He smiled as Adam swiped his dark hair out of his eyes. Mac knew it was soft. Like raw silk under his fingers. Sable hair and skin so pale it made him look translucently fragile. It was as if he never went out in the sun. But MacLeod knew he did. And knew there was absolutely nothing fragile about his husband. It was just part of what made Adam, Adam.

"There." Methos tossed boots and socks next to the pile of his own clothes. He pulled MacLeod up again. "Shirt," he said. Reached for the buttons. He looked into Duncan's eyes as he eased open the garment. Let it slip off Mac's shoulders.

He ran callused palms over his husband's chest down to his waist. Looking down, he tugged on the belt, then long fingers slid under the waistband to loosen the fastening. Methos paused. And his brain kicked in and he realized exactly what he was doing.

 

NINETEEN

MacLeod had let Adam have his way, and enjoyed every second of it. Now he was confused. He hadn't moved. But, Adam wasn't moving either. He tilted his husband's head so he could look at him. Was shocked by the expression in the man's eyes.

"Adam? What it is?" Is something the matter?"

Methos shook his head. Opened his mouth to speak. Closed it again. He stared at Duncan. His fingers still clenched in the waistband of Mac's trousers. He could feel the heat of him, and he shivered.

"God, I thought I could just, just do this, Mac. Duncan," he whispered. Methos tried to smile. "I never had this kind of problem with a woman," he said ruefully. "Sorry. I guess there's a lot more to it than reading and watching some video."

He blushed, and ducked his head again. "I know the, the mechanics," he mumbled.

"What?" MacLeod wasn't sure he understood what he thought he'd just heard. Then it was his turn to blush. His spouse, Adam, a God-knew-how-old immortal, was a virgin with men.

"I love you, Mac," Methos went on. "I want you. But, well, I guess I didn't take into consideration the way I am…"

"What do you mean? The way you are? I thought you were doing okay," the Scot said. It was true. He hadn't had the slightest idea that anything was wrong.

"I thought I was too," Methos said. He sighed, and went on. "I never let myself think about it. You. Us. I always thought of you as this incredibly hot and sexy person that I wanted to be with. You didn't have to have a gender…"

"Adam!"

"…Until now." He gave another try at a smile. "I know. Insane. Right, I agree." The old immortal stood. It was clearly evident that making his confession had had a rather chilling effect on his libido.

"Adam, for God's sake, stop for a second." MacLeod got up too, and went to his wardrobe. He brought out his robe and put it on his husband. Got another for himself and put it on over his trousers. Then he made Adam get into bed and drew the covers around him.

Methos watched his husband with shimmering eyes. "What, no hot toddy, mama-Mac?"

MacLeod shook his head. "No. I want us both cold sober for this," he said honestly. He sat on top of the blanket, facing Adam. "We never talk, do we? We think we do. But we don't."

Methos shrugged.

"Alright." MacLeod sighed. It was obvious they weren't going to talk now, either. It was time to put up, or shut up. "Adam, do you want me?"

"God yes, Duncan, I married you to get you!"

The Scot was gratified by the instantaneous response. He nodded. "Then you can have me."

Methos blinked several times, but made no reply as he considered what his husband was offering. "But, Duncan, I've read. Studied. The literature. Come on, MacLeod, you're a classic bi dominant. Top." Methos blushed again. He couldn't believe this was happening. He thought he'd worked through all of these issues.

"Just because you read some case studies, it doesn't make it true all the time, Adam," the Scot reminded him. "Yes, it's true I usually take the lead." He had to smile at the look on his husband's face. "But with you, I think I could share that position."

A snorted laugh met that comment. "So, you'll just turn yourself over to a rank tyro at gay sex?"

"Somehow, I think it'll even out--later."

Duncan received a full-out laugh for that, and it made his heart pound to hear it. He grinned back at his spouse for a moment. Got off the bed. Made sure Adam was watching as he tossed aside the robe and stripped off his trousers. He tilted his head and looked at his husband from under slightly lowered lashes. "So, okay so far?" At Adam's nod, he walked over to the bed and drew the covers down to the end. "Don't want any interference."

Methos nodded solemnly. "That's standard," he agreed. It wasn't standard that his bed partner had a penis. But so far he was--dealing. "Uh, should I…?" He faltered again.

"How about this, Adam, you do what feels good for you," Duncan said softly. "Take it as slow and easy as you like." His husband nodded agreement. But his eyes were wide with near panic. "Slow, love," Duncan whispered again.

"Come on, relax for me? Close your eyes and let me…" The Scot brushed Adam's face with his fingers. Then he kissed him chastely. "There. Hm, no, keep your eyes closed. Stay," MacLeod said when the other man would have moved.

"There are a lot of things you can do that it makes no difference which gender," Duncan went on.

"Kissing. Kissing is okay," Methos said agreeably. Mac was right. For some reason he could do this as long as he didn't see and consciously think of MacLeod as a man. He suddenly wondered what Freud would have thought. Couldn't help a chuckle at the whimsy.

"Hm. I like to hear you laugh." MacLeod's voice was a breathy tickle on his ear and neck. "It's very sexy."

"If you say so," Methos said. Then he opened his eyes and looked at his husband. "What else, Duncan. What else isn't, isn't that different?" He was still apprehensive. But it hadn't been all that scary.

"Well, I guess it depends on how adventurous the ladies have been, Adam. I'm betting at least one of them has done this." MacLeod spent several minutes running his hands through his husband's hair. Caressing his scalp and neck. When he felt Adam relaxing, he paused and looked into the other immortal's eyes.

"Okay?"

"Yes. Definitely. Yes." Methos nodded. "What else?"

Since his arms were still hung around his husband's neck, the Scot used the opportunity to slip the robe off Adam's shoulders. He squeezed them gently. "You're so tense." He massaged them for a moment, then his upper arms. Then back across his collarbone.

Adam's eyes were half-shut in pleasure as he enjoyed the simple touches. Gods, he was enjoying this! Without thinking he reached out and put his hand on his husband's chest. Ran his palm over the lightly furred pectorals. Over and back across the nub of a nipple. He felt it harden instantly. That was good, he thought. A familiar reaction. Then he caught his breath as MacLeod echoed his motion.

Damn, but that was even better, Adam thought happily. If touching made him feel like this… He leaned forward and licked the nipple he wasn't touching. Could feel that Duncan was fighting to keep from thrusting himself closer. He drew back and heard a tiny whine of disappointment from the Scot.

The old immortal giggled. "Give me a minute to get comfortable," he said as he dragged the robe off his body and dropped it to the floor. Then he pushed Duncan back, and settled, reclining against his side.

"Let me," he said quietly, and first played with MacLeod's nipples, then began to nip and lick. When the Scot reached for him, he pushed his hands away and took possession of his mouth.

It wasn't more than petting. And not even particularly heavy petting. But Duncan was happy they'd gotten this far. So, he decided to try a little more. When Adam paused the next time, the Scot went down on him.

Methos froze as his husband's lips sealed around the base of his penis. For one blinding second he thought he was going to lose his erection. But then he was being sucked, and the exquisite pleasure brought on a sudden surge.

Duncan was caught off guard by his husband's reaction. But not for long. He used all his not inconsiderable talent at fellatio to bring Adam to a cataclysmic orgasm. One that left Adam spent.

When he could speak coherently again, Methos raised his head and stared at the Highlander. "You didn't come," he accused.

MacLeod laughed. "I was too busy," he said, "taking care of you. Next time."

Methos let his head drop back to the pillow. "You know, I've had women do that before. It's just never been so…" He paused, searching for the correct word. "Intense. Is it always like that," he practically whispered.

"Pretty much."

"God."

"And that's not all, Adam, beloved," Duncan reminded his husband. He leaned off the bed to rummage in the bedside table's drawer.

Methos couldn't see what he was doing. But he had a good idea. Except… "God, MacLeod, what did you do? Buy the entire stock of lubricant in Glenfinnan?" The old immortal was eyeing the assortment of oils and gels warily.

"Worse, love. It was our friends that did it. And they cast their nets further than Glenfinnan." MacLeod picked out one particular bottle. "You can only get this one from, um, Greece."

Methos groaned. "Fitz. Fitz bought that one, right?" He sighed. Then he looked up at his husband. He had a look of concentration on his face. He opened his mouth to speak.

The Scot smiled and put his fingers to Adam's lips. He was afraid this was going to be an awkward moment. One he wanted to avoid at all costs. He put the bottle in his husband`s hand. "Is this the one you want to try?" Simple as that, he took things to the next level.

continued...


	4. The Part With All the Sex

TWENTY

"Is this the one you want to try?"

Methos couldn't take his eyes off the object in his hand. Did he want to try? No. No. As Yoda said, there was no try. He would--do. He would make love to his husband. The man he loved. The man who loved him.

Now, if he could just get past that pesky little man thing. Okay. Yeah. Okay. He turned the bottle over and over in his hands. Read the contents and directions. He knew what he was supposed to do with it. What he was supposed to do--after. It couldn't be that different. Not really. Well, the literature said it would be a little different. Okay. Okay. Now you're just stalling, and you know it, Methos, he told himself.

MacLeod could see the indecision on his husband's face. "Adam, do you want me to…"

Methos looked up, startled by his husband's concerned tone. "Oh, no, Mac. I just. I don't… I'm not sure… Um, how, how do you want to do this?" He waved his arm around.

"However you're most comfortable, Adam."

"But, I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't, beloved," Duncan assured him. Then he smiled. "It's not my first time," he reminded him.

"Arse!" Methos shook his head. "So, assume whatever position you want and let the wedding night commence."

The Highlander laughed as he rearranged pillows so he could lie back with his hips elevated. He reached for his husband and pulled him between his wide spread knees. "Not too strange, is it," he asked, with a smile on his face and humor in his voice. He'd noticed Adam wasn't erect. But he had a feeling that would be corrected very soon.

"No. Not except for, well, this..." Methos had popped open the bottle of oil and liberally drenched both hands. He touched his husband's erection and watched as it jumped towards him.

"Oh!" Methos looked down. To his utter amazement, his own penis began to stir. It was as if it was in competition with Duncan's. Interesting. Maybe he was making way more of this whole situation than was really there?

Could that be true? Methos put one hand on his cock, the other on his husband's. They were near the same size. Neither had been circumcised, of course. And god, their flesh was hot and silky and touching like this was… The old immortal inched closer into the vee of his husband's legs and caused their groins to mesh.

MacLeod had to fight to keep from coming off the bed. "Adam, stop," he ground out. "Can't do that. Not, not now. I want you. Coming in me." His voice was low and ragged.

"Oh. Oh!"

"Yeah!" The Scot managed to grin up at his husband. Then he took Adam's hands and pushed them down. While he braced himself and tilted his pelvis up. "You can't use too much oil," he reminded the older immortal. "And, start slow and build."

Adam stared into the eyes of his husband and nodded. He added more oil, then carefully parted Duncan's cheeks. He flushed at the first sight of the man's anus. He wasn't going to hurt MacLeod. This wasn't the bad old days when such a thing was done as punishment. To humiliate. To subjugate. It wasn't rape! He touched cautiously.

The Scot sighed as Adam pressed the tip of his index finger inside him. When he stopped, MacLeod spoke up. "You have to move it, love. Come on, you read all the books. Remember?"

"Okay."

The next movement was a little surer, and the Scot nodded and murmured encouragement until two whole fingers were in. He tightened his internal muscles and giggled when Adam yelped. "I can't believe you never did this. With anyone," Duncan said. "Go on, more. Please?" He wiggled his bottom and watched Adam's eyes light with sudden comprehension.

"You really like this, don't you?" he stated, awestruck. He twisted his fingers and watched his husband's face. Duncan moaned with delight. Adam smiled. He was feeling more confident. His husband's evident pleasure at his ministrations recalled some of the things he had read. Some of the scenes in the videos. He grinned wickedly and turned his hand. Just so. A little pressure in the right place.

MacLeod howled. There was no other word for it. Howled. Clamped down on the fingers inside him as he thrashed wildly. Tears sprang into his eyes, and he couldn't breath for a second.

Methos panicked. Tried to pull away. "Duncan, Duncan, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you, you said more, and I read about the prostate, I didn't know…"

The Scot managed a deep breath and reached for his husband. Still holding Adam's fingers captured within his body, he pulled him down to his chest. "Would you just shut up and do that again," he whispered.

"What?"

"That was, the best, ever. And I really want you to do it again." MacLeod nodded. "God, please do it again, Adam!"

Methos shook his head. "Really? It's that, um…"

His husband nodded. "Yeah."

"But, I barely did anything. Is it that sensitive?" Methos had been skeptical of all the claims he'd read about the prostate. But he knew--very well--that Duncan hadn't been faking that reaction.

"Yes, it's like--hell, I can't… Fireworks are a cliche. But that pretty much describes it for me. Of course," MacLeod went on, "if you have something else you'd rather use, I'd be happy with that too." He glanced at Adam's erection. Just in case there was any doubt what he meant.

"I bet you would," Methos said. And for the first time, he believed he would be giving Duncan the pleasure the man claimed he got from male sex. Methos nodded.

Duncan grinned and spread himself open once again. But, was shocked when Adam pulled away. He'd thought they'd gotten past this awkwardness. "Adam?"

Then, his husband truly shocked him. He felt himself being tugged up. Adam was taking his place on the pillows. Pulling his knees back to his chest. Exposing his beautiful body. Holding it open to his husband's gaze.

Gold-glinting eyes looked up into MacLeod's. "I want. Now, Duncan. Love. Please, love me before I lose my nerve?"

The Highlander nodded. He knew what it was taking for his husband to do this. He saw the fear Adam was trying to hide. He grabbed the oil and poured it out. Slathered it on them both. Then he leaned in to kiss his husband senseless.

Methos realized what Mac was doing. Trying to divert him. He shook his head and gasped as his anus was intimately touched in lovemaking for the very first time. "No, stop, please," he begged.

MacLeod sighed and did as his husband asked. He half expected Adam to bolt. But instead, the other man only shifted to give Duncan easier access.

"Talk to me, love. I need to know. What you're going to do. I won't…" He didn't say `be afraid.' "I won't be so curious," he amended.

Duncan smiled. Kissed him quickly. "Alright." He ran his hands up the inside of Adam's thighs. "How, um, descriptive do you want this, Adam? Do you want the Latin, English, or the street vernacular," he teased.

Methos groaned a laugh. "As long as it's not baby talk."

Mac laughed. He moved closer until his thighs were between Adam's. "Okay, the little piggy that usually stays home is coming for a visit," he said seriously.

"Duncan! Ah-ah-ah… Oh…" Methos breathed out as he was  
penetrated. "Oh," he repeated as he shifted minutely. He had been expecting some huge hurt. But this was, well, not too bad. Especially since his cock seemed to be taking an interest too. He looked up. "Okay," he said with a nod.

"Hm, our well-fed friend's decided to stop by. You'll probably feel this a little more, just breathe," the Scot warned as he added his middle finger.

"Yeah. It's--longer. It's okay, though." Methos breathed as he'd been told. "Okay."

"Good. Now I'm going to start moving…"

"Moving?" Tension was back in Adam's voice.

"Yes, love, to loosen, ah, everything. Remember what you've read, love."

Methos took in a ragged breath.

"Want me to add more oil?"

"Will you have to, to, totakeyourfingersouttodoit?"

The Scot chuckled. "No, I don't have to. Feel? I'm going to put the oil on my hand and it'll flow down. Then, I'm going to move my fingers around. Just a little until you get used to it." He did so, continuing to talk to his husband.

Unconsciously, Mac fell into the speech patterns he used while he was grooming the mares. Methos recognized it, and was calmed by it. So that by the time Duncan had coaxed a third finger inside him, he was practically writhing with need.

And frustration. MacLeod had opened him, stretched him wide, touched him inside. Every place but one. "Do it, Duncan. Come on," he whined. He was whining!

"Are you ready?"

"Yes. No. Yes." Methos was desperately trying to find the perfect angle on his husband's hand to stimulate his prostate when the hand suddenly disappeared. He was drawing in a breath to protest when Mac took him by the hips and pulled him up, practically folding him in half. Before the act could fully register, he felt a hard, slick heat probing at his dilated sphincter.

He held the breath as the strange sensation moved inside him. It didn't hurt. It was just different.

Yes. It was different. He had a huge cock in his ass. Methos began to laugh aloud. Which set off a wave of new--and unexpectedly exciting--feelings.

"Duncan, Duncan, Duncan," he chanted. "I want. I want your cock as far in me as it'll go," he demanded. "Now, now, love."

The Highlander smiled down at his husband. "I'll get there. Eventually. But I've waited too long to rush this now," he warned. "It's going to be long and slow, Adam. You're going to beg me before it's over." He moved.

And Methos realized only the head of Duncan's cock was in him.

He gasped as another inch advanced inside. His eyes widened. How had he misjudged something like that? Gods, Mac was huge. As he was penetrated farther and farther, he could actually feel the contours of the penis inside him. He could feel it rubbing against his other organs. He'd demanded it be shoved inside him, and he was getting his wish.

Duncan gave one final twist and was fully seated inside his husband. He could feel his balls nestled in the crack of Adam's bottom. He grinned down at the man. "Time for a surprise," he said. Then he reached between their bodies where Adam's cock lay pressed between their bellies. He placed a hand just under his husband's naval and pressed while he pumped experimentally.

Methos gasped at the feelings all along his insides. The friction set his sphincter tingling. Pressure on his bladder made him squirm. Oh, god. He could feel MacLeod's hand massaging his own cock. Inside him.

He shouted some garbled obscenities. Thrashing wildly only intensified everything. Methos was certain he was going to come then. How could he not?

MacLeod wouldn't let him. As he'd promised. Not for a long, long  
time.

 

TWENTY-ONE

His husband was a puddle of sweat, tears and precome. He was past coherence. MacLeod had used every technique he knew to bring the other immortal to the brink. Time and again.

But, all good things must end. The Scot grinned down at Adam.

"God, Adam, you are beautiful," he told his husband fervently. It was true. The man was almost ethereally beautiful in the throes of passion. His sable hair was damp and tousled. His face and body flushed like rose alabaster. It glowed with the internal fires he'd built within his husband. His neck was arched. Exposing its slim length to his Duncan's voracious lips and teeth. A line of fading passion marks left phantom shadows to show where he had fed.

There, and on the swollen nipples and aureoles. The Scot had sucked long and hard. He bent and tongued one red bud, and Adam moaned and writhed again.

Methos rocked his hips and managed to open his eyes. He still wasn't getting all he wanted from the cock impaling him. His hands tightened on his husband's braced forearms.

"What do you want, beloved," MacLeod asked a final time.

Dark-gold, passion-filled eyes flickered as Methos whispered. "Love me. Love me…"

"Forever and ever…"

 

TWENTY-TWO

MacLeod woke slowly and stretched languorously. He wasn't surprised to find that he still ached pleasantly. Considering he'd been completely celibate since his cousin's death. Since he'd been forced into killing Jacob Kell. He pushed those thoughts aside.

And if he felt like this--he reached out to Adam.

But his husband wasn't beside him. And the bed was cool. The Scot frowned. He'd hoped to be able to soothe Adam before the man woke. MacLeod smiled and shook his head. He'd never thought his husband would have the energy to move, much less get up at dawn. Adam really was a creature of habit, he decided. Maybe he could catch him in the shower if he hurried.

Adam wasn't in the bath. Or in the kitchen. The Highlander realized then that he didn't sense another immortal presence. He grabbed his robe from the floor and was just belting it when he threw open the front door.

"Adam," he shouted.

A voice from beside him caught him off guard. Fitz lounged on the bench. It was obvious he had been waiting a while.

"Save your breath, laddie, save your breath. Adam's gone from you. And small wonder."

"What are you talking about? Where is he?"

"It was still dark when he came round to my house. Said he had to tell someone…" Fitz shrugged.

"Tell someone what?"

"That he was leaving."

"Leaving? Why?"

"I asked that. 'Because I love him. I love him too much to go on pretending that all's well between us,` is what he said." Fitz looked up at MacLeod. Waited.

"Where'd he go?"

"Train station. He didn't say where he was going from there, of course. But I got the impression he was planning on going farther than Edinburgh. Or London."

MacLeod's face became grim. For one instant he thought about letting Adam go. If that was what he wanted. Was it what he wanted? Could he really mean to leave after what they had shared mere hours ago?

Was he willing to give up on what had just begun between them?

"Saddle Fancy for me, please," MacLeod asked as he slammed back into the cottage.

"As if," Fitz muttered. "You made the mess, Duncan MacLeod, me laddie. You clean it up."

 

Methos couldn't believe it. Ten in the morning and the train was still sitting in the station. A two-hour delay. He should have just taken the car and gone. But no, he hadn't wanted to be bothered with having to get rid of the damned thing later.

He alternately sprawled back in the compartment's seat and leaned out of the window. He didn't know whether he was glad Duncan hadn't shown up or not. He probably was. It would make things easier for them both to get on with their lives. Yes. Definitely. He'd be free of Kronos and MacLeod.

After all, it wasn't as if he needed either man. Any man. Or woman, for that matter. There were plenty of positions open to him. All earned on my own merits, thank you very much, he reminded himself. Whether he was Adam Pierson. Or someone completely different.

He was contemplating on the weather in New Zealand when he felt the first tingle of presence. "Shit…"

Fancy's hooves thundered on the road as she galloped up to the station. She skidded to a halt as MacLeod slipped from her back. Then trotted off to graze the verge.

Meanwhile, MacLeod had unerringly found his husband. He threw open the compartment door and made a grab for Adam's arm. Which the other immortal neatly avoided.

"Don't," he warned the Scot. And then pushed past him to climb out of the carriage.

"What the hell do you think you're doing," MacLeod ground out "Just… Let's go." He grabbed Adam's hand and began pulling him out of the station.

Methos thought about making a scene. For a bare second. No. This was as good a time as any for the people of Glenfinnan to see what kind of man MacLeod really was.

continued...


	5. Chapter 5

TWENTY-THREE

"You are shittin' me." Joe looked over at Fitz and the rest of the bar's patrons as he hung up the phone. He wasn't quite sure if he should believe what he'd just heard. Even after Fitz had told him about the day's early morning events. "They're walking. From the station. Heading for Koren's place."

Mr. Campbell looked up from his newspaper. "Isn't Koren having that party over there today? All those people come to see his sheep?"

"You're right," Dawson said with a laugh. "The Australians. He's having a barbecue! Looks like he'll be having a few more guests than he'd originally planned. Well. Well." Joe looked around. "There's only one thing to say. Gentlemen, the drinks are on the house."

All he got in response were incredulous looks.

"Well, they are!"

The phone rang again before Joe had time to pour even the first free brew. He listened for a few seconds, then slammed down the receiver. "They're making better time than Dougal estimated. We've got five minutes to get out there."

 

Methos had managed to break away from his husband. But he wouldn't give him the satisfaction of fighting him. He knew very well where they were going. He just couldn't imagine why. MacLeod had made it perfectly clear that what he wanted--how he felt, didn't count.

Still, he did get some grim satisfaction at seeing his brother's reaction to the huge group of people descending on his front lawn. To mingle with his very important guests. Kronos marched out to meet them before they got all the way to the house.

As they stopped before the immortal, MacLeod reached out and grabbed Adam's hand. Held on tight. "Koren, I'm here to get something that belongs to my husband. His journals." Duncan almost smiled then. He could practically feel Adam's surprised reaction.

Methos had started at MacLeod's words. But he watched Kronos' face. It was hard and implacable as ever. The old immortal sighed. It couldn't just be over, could it? He waited for the words he knew his brother would say.

"I'll give them up--never," Koren said sarcastically.

"Fine. Then I'm giving your brother back to you. You can all be together again. You, him--and his damned journals!" He gave Adam a little push and started him towards Koren.

Methos stopped and turned to stare at his husband. Where the hell had that come from? "You'd really just send me back? After… After everything…?"

"It's already done," MacLeod said softly.

The laughter from the onlookers wasn't so soft. Methos stared at Duncan. His face flushed with embarrassment. And rising anger.

Then Koren was moving. Stalking away. When others would have followed, he warned them back with a guttural growl. He slammed into the house.

A mostly breathless few minutes later, he came out of the house. His arms laden with several leather-bound books. He went over to MacLeod and dumped them at the man`s feet. "There's his stupid journals. Look at them. Make sure they're all there." Koren stepped back. "But if I ever see your face again…"

MacLeod ignored the implied threat as he bent to pick up the books. Then he stood and looked at his husband. Adam came up to him and took two of the journals. He nodded, went over to the barbecue pit.

One of the cooks grinned as he caught on to what the man was about. He opened the lid and stood back.

Methos watched his husband's face as he tossed the journals onto the flames. For once and all, he hoped he could finally make the man understand it wasn't the books themselves that were so precious. But what they represented. His life, thoughts, intellect. What made him the unique being he was. That along with them, Kronos had held him hostage. He reached for more but Duncan shook his head.

"No, I understand," he whispered as he placed the rest in Adam's arms. Then he looked around at the people who had been watching. He smiled, and put his arm around his husband's waist. They were going to go home now. Everything was going to be just…

"Duncan!"

MacLeod looked up at Fitz's shout in time to see Koren start to swing at him. Instinctively he moved to block the blow. The other immortal lost his footing and went down in a sprawl. The Scot turned to his husband, ready to apologize. He opened his mouth, but Adam was already speaking.

"I'll get these home, Mac," Methos said conversationally. He checked the sun`s location in the sky. "Need to get dinner started too." Kissing his husband's cheek, he strolled off towards White O'Morn.

The Highlander grinned, completely entranced by the sight of Adam. So entranced, that he didn't notice Koren getting up and coming at him. He went down, rolling several feet before being able to get up.

"That was a dirty blow," Fitz yelled.

Jumping up, MacLeod went right for Koren. He took the man down to the ground and each landed several blows before things turned into a general melee.

 

Methos had barely gotten out of sight when he set the books down and pulled out his phone. There was no way he was going to miss this. "Amanda, get your car and meet me at the bridge. You're not going to believe…"

"I've heard, I've heard," the woman practically squealed with glee. "I'm on the way now! Oh, I do hope MacLeod beats him senseless."

"That's my husband you're talking about."

"And your brother," Amanda said with a snicker. "And it's that bellowing bully that concerns me."

The connection was broken. Methos grinned. So, Joe and Fitz had been right all along. The Widow was interested in Kronos. Too bad it had taken a near disaster to make her realize it.

A moment later, a sleek red Ferrari pulled up next to Methos. He dumped his books onto the floor, and climbed in. Amanda handed him a pair of field glasses. "I see you've come prepared."

"Always, darling."

 

All over Glenfinnan, the word had gotten out that the fight of the century was on. The constabulary had been duly alerted. Vehicles had been dispatched. To make sure the roads were cleared as the protagonists battled across the countryside.

A halt had been called when Koren found himself taking an unexpected dip in the river. He`d come up sputtering, and regained his feet. "You've had enough," he shouted at MacLeod.

"No."

"Well, give a man a hand."

McLeod graciously hauled him onto the bank. Koren used the advantage to knock him down. The fight went on. Heading straight into Glenfinnan.

More and more folk arrived from the surrounding areas. The noise level was growing to a degree that even those inside their homes who hadn't been notified by friends or relatives, knew something was happening.

Granny Hay managed a miraculous recovery from her very deathbed--or so she told her neighbor the next day--to see the fight. It definitely seemed as if everyone who could be there was.

So, the fight went on. And on. Neither man seemed to have an advantage. It began to look as if they would go on indefinitely. Even the betting was even money.

After another half an hour, they ended up in front of The Blue Moon during another lull.

MacLeod looked over his opponent. "Well, Koren, you're a good fighting man, I'll say that for you."

The smaller man gave a laugh. "Well, if it's come to that, it's been a pleasure beating you." Then he laid into the Scot with another punch.

MacLeod measured his length on the lawn in front of the inn. Glared up at the grinning immortal. He was just about to get up when Joe came out of the bar.

"How about a drink before you kill yourselves? The drinks would be on the house."

"Ah, that's a good idea. More people are coming over," Fitz said with a nod. "Thousands of them."

"That's a good idea," Koren agreed. "Not that I'm tired, mind you. I'm fresh as a daisy."

"You look more like a Blackeyed Susan to me," MacLeod scoffed. "Let's go. He followed Joe and Koren into the bar. Fitz held the crowd at bay.

 

Methos and Amanda had watched from behind fences and hedges. Each rooting for their champion. Yet neither being too loyal or sentimental not to kibitz. "You know, they keep taking rests," Methos said. "We may have to dart them to end this."

That sent Amanda off into gales of laughter. Methos looked around. "I don't see them." He called Joe.

"They're at The Blue Moon."

"Are they going in," Amanda asked.

"Yes."

"Does that mean the fight's over?"

"No. That's just the end of round one. Oh, god, Joe says there's a caravan coming from Ft. William," he told Amanda. They both were amazed at how out of hand things had gotten.

 

Joe hung up the phone and poured a pint of porter for MacLeod and Koren.

"Ah, it's peaceful and quiet in here, isn`t it," Koren said as he leaned on the bar.

"Yeah," MacLeod agreed after he took a deep swallow of his drink.

"You know, this has been a fight I'd come a long way to see."

The Scot snickered. "I hope you can stick around for the finish."

"Don`t worry about that." Koren bristled. He took a calming breath, drank down half his porter, and went on. "You know, I've taken quite a liking to you."

"I'm getting real fond of you, too," MacLeod said just a bit sarcastically. He turned to look at the other immortal.

"Your widower, my brother, he could have done a lot worse…"

Joe nodded. "Too true," he agreed.

"…Poor man."

The Scot sighed loudly. "Thanks," he said to them both. Then pushed his empty glass over to Dawson. "Fill them up again," he directed. Reached into his pocket for some cash.

Koren looked at MacLeod as if he were some strange insect. "Hey, you'll buy me no drinks," he declared loudly.

"On the house," Joe reminded them both.

"And I'm taking no drink from you either," Koren practically shouted.

MacLeod laid down the price of the pints. "I'm buying the drinks."

"You can buy me a drink at your wake. And not before." Koren pushed the Scot's cash aside and laid down his own.

MacLeod followed his example. "I'm buying," he said again. More forcefully.

The smaller man eyed him, picked up his glass and tossed the contents into MacLeod's face.

The Scot sputtered for a moment. Then called for a bar towel. Joe, barely keeping his composure, tossed him one. Mac swabbed his face. Then leaned over to Joe. "What time is it," he asked calmly.

"Half past five."

With a barely discerned nod, MacLeod turned and with one solid blow laid out his brother-in-law.

 

"Oh, good god," Methos breathed. "He's done it. He's finally made a breakthrough."

They had been watching when Koren came careening backwards out of The Blue Moon and toppled like a fallen tree. The old immortal threw his arms around Amanda and kissed her cheek.

"Oh, Adam, what if he's hurt bad?" Amanda was too upset to take anyone's comfort.

"Then, you should go see about him, of course. He's always better when there's someone to take care of him. But wait until tomorrow." He patted her cheek and dried her eyes. `'You go on, now. Go home. Rest up. And tomorrow, take him a cake. He'll like that. Chocolate."

"What will you do," Amanda asked around her sniffles.

"Go home and microwave something quick," he said with a laugh. "Mac thinks I'm home making dinner, after all."

Amanda giggled. "Come on, better let me give you a ride."

 

TWENTY-FOUR

Methos watched the progress of the two immortals. He cringed as they stumbled knee-deep through the stream. He hadn't needed a quickening signature to know they were approaching. Their raucous singing was enough to wake the dead. Still, it was better that they were singing than fighting.

Well, maybe.

He opened the door before it could be flung back against the wall and stood waiting.

The two of them came reeling into the cottage. Arms about one another's shoulders. MacLeod looked around for a moment. Then focused on his husband. "Adam! I have brought the brother home to supper."

Methos gave them both a good looking over. "He's most welcome," he  
said.

Kronos gave his brother a sheepish grin.

"Now, wipe your feet and get cleaned up," he commanded. Methos was instantly obeyed. And the rest of the evening went pleasantly.

 

As a matter of fact, from then on things went pleasantly in Glenfinnan.

Amanda and Koren soon became an item and were married the next fall. They turned their properties over to estate managers, and moved to LA. Where Amanda had her first death a year after that.

Joe and Fitz became partners in The Blue Moon when they discovered they both had a penchant for the music business. Soon some of the best bands in Europe were coming to play at the bar. And not long after that they were opening Blue Moons in Edinburgh, London, Paris and Frankfort.

Joe resigned from the Watchers.

After a while the two men hired a management team to run the expanding business. They began traveling the world.

Duncan MacLeod became the local expert on low-tech and organic farming. He put in orchards and berry-brakes, and raised all manner of vegetables that were supposed to be impossible to grow in the area.

Adam Pierson became Duncan MacLeod's Watcher. He continues fictionalizing his memoirs, and remains a globally best-selling author to this day.

 

End

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


End file.
